Ned
Ned rode through the gates of the Red Keep, glad to have arrived if only because it meant the journey was over.
The month it had taken to get south of Moat Cailin and then past the Trident until the Kingsroad forked east and west had been maddening. Once the wheelhouse and most of the Lannister men had gone west, the King's party headed east went much faster. The whole time, Ned couldn't help but feel he was going the wrong direction. He should be heading north to help the Night's Watch against White Walkers. Not south to deal with fools and flatterers.
Ned was barely off his horse when a servant came to him. "Lord Stark, your presence is requested at an urgent meeting of the small council."
Ned sighed. So it began, doing Robert's job for him. Luckily, he'd have an ally. "Prophet, would you please come with me?"
"Of course, Ned," the Visitor said. He waved away the servant and led Ned like he knew every twist and turn in the castle. Which he did, thanks to observing the whole world with their machines that saw and heard everything. Prophet came to a door and stopped, motioning that Ned go first.
Ned ende to find four other men standing around a round table.
"Lord Stark. How good of you to come on such short notice. And you've brought Prophet as well. An honor, truly, to meet a visitor from another world," Varys, the eunuch Master of Whispers, said unctuously.
"The honor is mine, Lord Varys. Your spy network is impressive, give how primitive your tools to build it were," Prophet said with genuine admiration.
"Don't tell me you know where all my little birds are," Varys said, looking nervous now.
"I know where everyone in this world is at all times." Prophet was matter-of-fact, not boasting.
Renly Baratheon, looking like a younger Robert, cleared his throat. "In any case, let us welcome our new Hand. Lord Stark, good to see you. And welcome to your guest."
"Time is money, let's not waste anymore of it," Littlefinger said, taking his seat. Ned tried to keep his hatred for the man who conspired to kill his foster father concealed.
"Yes. Let us proceed," said Grandmaester Pycelle, a wheezing old man and Ned was sure was a Lannister spy.
They all took their seats, Prophet standing behind Ned.
"Should we wait for Robert?" Ned asked, already anticipating the answer.
"His Grace does not often attend these meetings," Varys shrugged. "Other matters take precedence in his mind." Translation: Robert was busy with some whore while others ran his kingdom for him.
"My brother has issued an order," Renly announced, handing a scroll with the King's seal to Ned.
He took it and read it with mounting horror. "He wants to host a tourney in my name! It'll cost 90 thousand dragons in prizes!"
"And that's not counting the food, the entertainment, the overtime for the Goldcloaks. Oh, well, I'll just borrow from the Lannisters again. We already owe them 3 million, what's a few more thousand?" Littlefinger drawled.
"The Crown is 3 million dragons in debt?" Ned demanded incredulously.
Littlefinger got a mocking smile. "No, the Crown is 6 million dragons in debt. The rest we owe to the Iron Bank of Braavos and various merchant princes around Essos."
Ned was aghast. "Aerys left a treasury overflowing with gold! How could this happen?"
Renly shrugged. "My brother despises 'counting coppers' and loves his extravagant tourneys."
Ned grit his teeth and, feeling helpless, turned to Prophet. "I don't suppose, Prophet, that you would be willing to gift us a large amount of gold?"
"How much?" Prophet asked.
Calculating how much six million gold dragons would weight, Ned gave a figure.
Prophet didn't even blink. "Very well. Do you want it in bullion or shall we cast them into dragons before gifting them to you?"
"Wait, wait, wait!" Littlefinger exclaimed. "This alien is just going to give us all that gold?"
"Yes, I am. We have more than we need. I see nothing wrong with giving a small portion of it away to help a friend in need," Prophet stated.
"Small?" Littlefinger asked faintly.
"My people have mined over 100 worlds of their resources and precious metals. Frankly, my people have more gold, silver, and copper than we know what to do with. Again, giving a small portion to help you is of no true cost to us," Prophet pointed out.
"When can it be here? And please, bring it in coins, the mint would be backed up for months," Ned requested.
"It can be here within the hour. But the Orb would transport it. The smallfolk may riot."
"Wait until night, then. Land here in Maegor's Fast. Give us less distance to carry it all."
"Ned, the chests will carry themselves," Prophet said in a gentle reminder.
"Of course, never mind," Ned said, remembering the power of the Visitors' technology. "Other than this blasted tourney, what else is going on with the Realm?"
Ned had a very long meeting as he was briefed on the state of the Seven Kingdoms. It wasn't a good outlook. The Crown was undeniably in decline. The gift of the Visitors' gold would erase the debt problem, but many issues still plagued the Realm. And it was Ned's job to handle them since Robert refused to take responsibility. Ned reflected that being Hand involved all the the work of being king with none of the benefits.
Ned got to the Tower of the Hand barely in time for dinner with his family and men. Then it was a long evening of sorting his luggage and belongings how he liked rather than how the servants had placed them. Then, moon in the sky, Ned and Prophet supervised the Orb descending to rest above the Red Keep. An opening appeared in the bottom and sixty chests floated down and towards the treasury. Ned watched as each chest unloaded 100 thousand gold dragons, each looking identical to one Ned would find in his purse. In short order, the treasury was filled with gold. It had been completely empty before. And it would be emptied again just to dig them out of the hole Robert had led them into.
"Not bad for your first day, no?" Prophet asked jokingly.
"I can only pray it gets easier with time," Ned sighed.
"Get some sleep, Ned. "You're going to need it." Prophet left, likely to explore the Red Keep, ask the night servants questions.
Gods old and new as his witness, Ned would find a way to repay the Visitors for all they'd done for him.
Sansa
The day of the Hand's Tourney dawned bright and beautiful. Father hadn't wanted it to happen but King Robert had insisted. For the occasion, Sansa brushed her hair and Lady's fur. Then she put on the dress the Visitors had given her, the one somehow made from diamonds. Sansa didn't understand how such a thing was possible, but she couldn't deny its beauty. It caught and reflected every bit of sunlight to cast rainbows where she walked.
They rode down to the tourney grounds. Father, with Winter at his side. Sansa liked the talking direwolf, he told lots of witty jokes. Prophet and the Visitors rode behind him, their heads never turning but Sansa knew they saw EVERYTHING. Then it was her and Arya and Bran, their direwolves keeping pace with their horses. They'd grown to the size of full-grown hounds and if Winter was any indication they were just getting started.
Arya had been getting lessons from Brunhild on how to fight with a sword. Her little sister declared she'd be the first female knight in Westeros. Or at least the first female sellsword. Sansa thought her sister insane, and questioned Father's logic in allowing the lessons to continue. Arya could never be a knight or a sellsword, it just wasn't done! And Bran, well, Bran saw every day in King's Landing as an adventure. He'd climbed every building in the Red Keep. And more than once he'd gotten lost in the tunnels and passageways beneath the castle and needed one of the Visitors to come rescue him. But he told fantastic tales of dragon bones black as pitch and bigger than any animal. If Bran were to be believed, the biggest skeletons had a skull that could have swallowed Winter in one bite.
They arrived at the tourney grounds at a couple hours past dawn. They had left right after breaking their fast. Sansa had never seen so many people in one place. As father took a moment to look at it all, Sansa saw Brunhild ride her horse to the area where the knights who'd be participating were gathering. Surely she hadn't… but then, Sansa remembered, she was no ordinary woman. These Visitors brought not only wondrous gifts, but dangerous ideas.
"Is Brunhild competing in the joust?" Sansa asked lightly.
"She came down, registered, and paid the fee yesterday. So yes," Prophet answered her.
"Silver stag says she wins the whole thing," Arya said with a grin.
"Are you kidding? Have you seen the Mountain? He's bigger even than Set! No way," Bran said.
"Then it's a bet," Arya said, shaking Bran's hand.
"Ned. Your children are gambling," Winter said drolly.
"King's Landing corrupts another two innocent souls. Come, we'll tie up our horses and take our seats. If this blasted even must happen, at least we should be in a position to enjoy it."
The crowds parted easily before Winter, none of the smallfolk ever having seen a direwolf. They left their horses at a post, with a couple unfortunate members of the house guard left to protect them from theft, and took the Hand's seats which were right next to the King's box.
The King arrived and declared the tourney open. By some stroke of luck, either good or bad, the first match-up was between Brunhild and Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Moves. There were those who pointed and laughed at Brunhild, and Sansa heard a great many rude words shouted out. The Visitor seemed deaf to the abuse slung at her, merely readying her horse and lining up her lance at the Mountain.
The joust began. The two charged at each other. Sansa hid her face in Lady's fur, she couldn't watch. There was a sound of impact and dead silence before the crowd exploded with noise. Sansa looked up.
The Mountain had been unseated. The 8-foot-tall man was flat on his back on the ground, while Brunhild rode her horse calmly, seemingly uninjured. The Visitor had gotten a perfect victory.
"Winner: Brunhild, the Visitor," declared the herald.
Gregor Clegane only then seemed to realize he'd lost. He came to his feet and drew his sword. With a roar of rage, he decapitated his steed. Sansa almost screamed at the display of cruelty. Then the Mountain made for Brunhild, who'd slid off her mount to face him.
"Hold! Hold on my order!" King Robert shouted.
The Mountain didn't listen. He lifted his sword and slashed at Brunhild.
The woman dodged in a move quick as a snake. She pulled back a fist and jumped a little to give a right cross to the Mountain's helmeted face. Sansa saw in fearful awe that the Visitor had left a fist mark in the metal of the helmet. The Mountain dropped his sword and collapsed to the ground.
Brunhild turned to the audience around her. "Well? Are you not entertained?"
Applause, thunderous applause broke out. Brunhild the Visitor just kicked the tourney off with a bang.
Sandor Clegane, the Hound and the Mountain's younger brother, was laughing himself silly. "A woman! A woman kicked his arse! Hahahaha!"
Sansa clapped politely, but she felt this only confirmed how unnatural Brunhild and the Visitors were.
"Someone drag him off to the cells for a couple days, give him time to cool off. Now, on with the tourney!" King Robert declared.
The tourney was scheduled to go on all day and into tomorrow, along with the archery and melee competitions. During a lull, when two knights Sansa didn't care about were jousting, she turned to Harriett. "Harriett. Are all women from your world like you and Brunhild?"
"How do you mean?" the Green Woman asked.
"You know… more than you're supposed to be," Sansa struggled to explain.
Harriett's eyes lit with understanding. "No, not every woman is enhanced. There are women a lot like you on our world, actually; little prim and proper ladies who want nothing more than marriage and babies. And then there's women like Brunhild,, more masculine than some men. And there's a thousand thousand flavors in between those two extremes. And each one is perfectly okay. There's a saying I live by: 'Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.' Never be ashamed to be yourself, Sansa Stark, and never shame others for being themselves."
Sansa blushed. Perhaps Harriett didn't mean it that way, but that sounded like a rebuke about her thoughts regarding Arya.
"Do you think I made a mistake, not getting a mind-lin?" Sansa asked.
"Like I said, not everyone on our world is enhanced. A small but significant part of the population want to stay 'natural' or 'as the gods intended'. And that's perfectly within their right. Everyone should be able to decide what goes into their body. Some, likeyou, are scared of mixing machine and flesh, see it as against the natural order. And some, like me and my crew, wanted the best enhancements we could get. Neither way is wrong or right, it's all just a matter of preference," the woman said.
Sansa had an intuition. "You're older than you look, aren't you?"
"I just turned 72 by my world's calendar when we arrived here," Harriett confessed readily. "Most who get enhanced prefer to look around 30 once they can decide how old they look."
"Do… do enhanced not age?" Sansa asked incredulously.
"As a healer, I could give a very long lecture on aging. But I'll just give you the highlights. Aging, at its heart, is the accumulation of damage in the body. Organs wear down and start to work wrong until everything falls apart. With enhancements, we can cure the damage as fast as it happens. Effectively, we stop aging. That's not to say we can't die, but it would be from massive trauma like having your head ripped off. But, yeah, enhanced can essentially never die from so-called 'natural' causes. To many on our world, aging is seen as a disease. And we found a cure."
Sansa gulped. "That doesn't scare you? Living forever?"
"Not really. I find it quite exciting. But that's just me. And why I made the choice to get enhanced. On our world, there's people who want to die the old-fashioned way. And that's okay, it's their lives to live, their deaths to die."
Sansa decided to change the subject from life and death. "Have you enjoyed your time on our world?"
"Oh, it's been oodles of fun. This is like some grand historic play writ large. The Seven Kingdoms actually are very similar to a distant time in our history. Seeing castles and jousting tournaments live and in the flesh is incredible to me."
Susan tilted her head. "Do we fascinate you as much as you fascinate us?"
"At least as much, in my opinion. You don't realize how rare it is for a crew like ours to reach a star system and find intelligent life. It's like finding diamonds in the mud. I spent two years fully expecting to be just a token medic on the crew as we colonized a bunch of dead worlds. Instead we found you, and I've had the time of my life studying your biology and anatomy. It's spooky how similar our two species are. Maybe some older civilization created us and planted us on different worlds. That honestly makes more sense than evolution or the gods or whatever shaping us so similarly despite how far away we are," Harriett answered in a rush.
Sansa realized she'd never asked an important question. "What gods do your people believe in?"
"Like your people, there are multiple religions on our world. Everyone's free to believe what they want. Some people believe there are no gods, that the Universe just… happened and we're in charge of our own fate. Me, personally, belong to a religion called Christianity. We believe in one true god that is in charge of everything."
"Just one god? Like the Lord of Light?"
"Yes. But that's just me. Like enhancement, spirituality is a deeply personal choice. I'm not saying some people on my world don't go 'our god is better than your god' from time to time, but for the most part you could believe in the Flying Spaghetti Monster and nobody gives a hoot," Harriett shrugged.
"Flying Spaghetti Monster?" Sansa asked, bewildered.
"Don't ask," Harriett rolled her eyes.
At that moment, Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, rode into the ring. He carried a rose in full bloom and, riding near the stands, gave it to Sansa. "Sweet maiden, a rose is nothing compared to your beauty."
Sansa blushed and felt her heart race. She wasn't marrying the prince anymore, could Father maybe match her with Loras?
Loras rode to take his place.
"Don't get your hopes up about him, Sansa. He's gay," Harriett advised.
"Yes, he does seem happy," Sansa grinned.
"No, I mean homosexual. Likes men, not women. He's in a relationship with Renly Baratheon but you didn't hear that from me," Harriett said with a finger to her lips.
Sansa blushed for a whole new reason. "How… how can you tell?"
"Well, they make love almost every night so either they're boyfriends or just mutually using the other for sex," Harriett said in a whisper so others couldn't overhear.
"You watch… people do…. That?" Sansa asked, curious as she was appalled.
"Every move every person on this world makes is of interest to us. It's not like we touch ourselves while spying on couples' private time. We just monitor the mating habits of the local lifeforms. To us, it's no different than if you saw a stallion mount a mare in the stable," Harriett explained.
"Then why does Solomon visit a brothel every night?" Sansa asked pointedly.
"Because he's a functioning sex addict who would sleep with a female of any species intelligent enough to give consent. Not too different from the king, actually. What that man would do with a Lenarran," Harriett shook her head.
"Isn't Solomon afraid of fathering a bastard?" Sansa asked.
"Firstly, our enhancements allow us to control our fertility. Solomon's seed is 'dead' unless he wants to father a child. Secondly, we don't care about parentage on our world. Technically, I'm a bastard; I was born out of wedlock at least. And thirdly, Solomon man be a man-whore but he doesn't avoid responsibility. He'd stay with the woman he got pregnant and help her raise the child," Harriett said with confidence.
Sansa blinked. "On your world, people… don't care about bastards?"
"It's gotten to the point that 'bastard' is a swear word but is almost never used to describe a child whose parents weren't married. Marriage is much more fluid on our world. It's seen as a sign of love and commitment, but not every couple believes in it. My parents met, fell in love, and got around to marrying each other after their third child was born. It's just not as important to us as it is to you. Plus divorce is common. Two people can break their marriage just by signing a few pieces of paper. Some people on my world believe marriage itself is an old-fashioned institution and should be abandoned entirely. Me, I believe in true love, waiting for the perfect man. But that doesn't mean I'm never going to have sex until my wedding night. In a nutshell, sex and marriage are almost completely unrelated to each other on my world," Harriett told Sansa.
"It sounds… confusing," Sanya admitted.
"It can be at times. I guess you have to grow up surrounded by the culture to understand," Harriett allowed.
There was a cheer from the crowd and Sansa realized she'd missed Loras Tyrell jousting. Oh well, there was always the next round.
The jousting went on until the final 8 were decided. Brunhild, Loras Tyrell, and Sandor Clegane were the ones to watch, based on what Sansa heard from the crowds. Sansa followed Father back to the horses and then up to the Red Keep. Sansa felt she'd learned a lot about the Visitors form Harriett. She found them a little less scary now some of the air of mystery had vanished. Prophet had been right, fear was born from lack of understanding. They all had a late dinner and then went to sleep.
They woke early thanks to their alarm clock, showered, broke their fast, and rode back down from the city to the tourney grounds. Sansa still wore her diamond dress; she didn't think the outer layer of jewel thread could get dirty, and the underlayer was the nanofiber mesh of the bodysuits that cleaned itself.
"Bread and circuses," Prophet said as they took their seats.
"What?" Father asked.
"It's an axiom from an ancient empire on our world. Essentially, bread and circuses means that if you keep the population well fed and entertained, they will allow the ruling class to do anything they want to them. A full belly and the occasional tourney, and who cares if the taxes go up? At least you were satisfied and happy for a while thanks to the generosity of the ruler." Prophet paused. "It would seem Robert favors the circus."
"That's a cynical… but probably accurate way of seeing things," Father admitted.
"It is notoriously difficult to be both a good man and a good politician," Lao Zi, who almost never spoke, piped up to say.
"Well, let's enjoy the circus while it lasts," Winter said, keeping his eyes on the jousting ring.
As expected, ast least among the Starks, Brunhild ended up winning. Bran reluctantly gave Arya a silver stag. When she was handed the crown of flowers, the Visitor trotted over to their section of the stands. "I'm told I'm supposed to give this to the prettiest girl in the crowd. Here, Sansa," Brunhild said, handing over the crown to the Stark girl.
Sansa couldn't believe it. She'd been named Queen of Love and Beauty. She stood and put on the crown, the audience cheering for her. It was the greatest moment of Sansa's life.
Tyrion
Tyrion was enjoying the feast Lord Commander Mormont was throwing to celebrate his last night on the Wall. Tyrion had been visiting for over a week, and he was ready to return south to King's Landing. He ate crab legs brought in from the far-away sea and listened to the conversation going around the table.
"So you mean to say you know the position of every person in the world at all times? How can you process all that information?" The Lord Commander was in deep talks with Inari and Minerva, who were doing most of the talking for the Visitors. Set and Vivaan were keeping their silence unless a question in their respective fields came up.
"We have a machine that can do the thinking for us. Anyway, shall I show you an example of our observations.?" Inari asked.
"How?" Lord Mormont asked.
"They can make shapes appear out of thin air. It's called a hologram," Tyrion spoke up.
"Very well, then. I'm very curious to see what you show us," Lord Mormont said to the Visitor.
Inari opened her palm and a map of the Far North, the Wall at the bottom of the image, appeared in the air. It was as if they were giants looking down on the world. The map began to fill with many colored dots. "The black dots are Night's Watch. The red dots are wildlings. The blue dots are White Walkers. And the grey dots are the wights they command."
Tyrion felt ice settle in his belly. The Visitors had insisted since they'd arrived that the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead were real, not just a scary story. Tyrion had dismissed their claims, but seeing it laid out right in front of him with absolute confidence from the woman who'd given him his height… well, it was harder to ignore or deny.
"Gods above," Lord Mormont breathed out. "So many wights… and look. No wonder we've had more attacks from wildlings, they're running away!"
Thorne, an ornery night and trainer of the new recruits at Castle Black, scoffed. "You don't actually believe this hookum do you, Lord Commander?"
"The Visitors are not the kind to lie," Maester Aemon spoke up. The man may be blind but he was still an excellent judge of character, and his words carried weight with most of the Night's Watch.
"But look at the map! There's more wights than the wildlings and the Night's Watch put together!" Thorne protested.
"Exactly. Which is why our crewmates down in King's Landing will do their best to convince the King of the truth so he can send an army north. But he may not take us at our word. The best way to convince him and the other major nobles and ladies is to capture a wight and send it south," Minerva spoke up.
Lord Mormont got a hard look. "Then it will be done. We'll arrange a ranging. We'll capture one of the unholy beasts and lock it in a cage. Then we'll send it south to King's Landing where all the King's court may see it and know our struggle is of paramount importance."
"I know you want to capture it 'alive', but how do you kill something that's already dead?" Tyrion spoke up, curious.
"Based on our analysis, the three things with the best chance of breaking the White Walkers' magic reanimating them are fire, Valyrian steel, and obsidian, or what you call dragonglass. Why these will work, we're still trying to work out. There's much less magic on our world than you have on this one. We're not as well versed in magic as we are in science, but we'll study and learn as best we can," Inari spoke up, ending the hologram.
Tyrion frowned. "Don't you Visitors have the means to kill the White Walkers and wights for us?"
"There are strict laws about joining military engagements of aliens on our world. We can aid and support with information and supplies, but we can't actually kill another intelligent being except under extreme circumstances," Set spoke up. "But you're right, Tyrion Lannister, we have the weaponry aboard our ship to wipe out every wight tonight if we were allowed to."
Tyrion tried not to boggle at the Visitor's supposed military might, they already seemed like gods so why should their wrath be any less fearsome? "Define 'extreme circumstances'.
"If the White Walkers and Wights wiped out 90% of the men and women in the world, humans would become an 'endangered species' by our laws and then we would be permitted to act to defend you from extinction. We would wipe out every wight and most of the White Walkers. But we couldn't kill all of them, as that would be rendering them extinct in turn. And no matter how hostile or parasitic, our culture values all intelligent life," Inari explained to Tyrion.
Tyrion gulped. "Right. Well, let's hope it never reaches that point. So, as I understand it, you can tell us where every White Walker is and put a sword in every hand, but actually fighting them in our problem to solve."
"Essentially, yes," Minerva nodded.
Tyrion turned back to his plate. Suddenly the meal didn't seem so tasty anymore, with the threat of storybook monsters hanging over their heads.
"I was going to plead with you, Tyrion Lannister, to beseech the king to give us aid. But now it seems these Visitors are already attempting to do so. So instead I only ask that you tell anyone who will listen that the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead are real," Lord Mormont asked of the former dwarf.
"I will," Tyrion promised. He'd do it if only to make others as scared as he was now.
Later, Tyrion went to the top of the Wall. As he'd promised Prophet, Tyrion took a piss on the far side of the Wall. Let that show the White Walkers he wasn't afraid of them. Except he was. Tyrion shook his head and thought about Jon Snow and his brother Jaime. Thorne seemed to have nothing to teach them, and the two competent fighters had endeavored to do the trainer's job for him. Jon and Jaime seemed to have bonded over a mutual respect of the other's swordplay, and they tried to distill that experience into the peasant boys and other new recruits who had never held a sword before in their lives.
Speak of the Stranger, Tyrion heard Jon Snow's voice behind him. "Tyrion!" The Lannister turned to see Jon, accompanied as always by Ghost. The direwolf would soon be taller than Tyrion had been.
"Ah, Jon. Pulled guard duty, huh? You really should stop insulting Ser Thorne so often," Tyrion advised.
"All I do is point out what he's doing wrong. Not my fault he can't handle it," Jon shrugged. "I hear you're leaving tomorrow. Do you want me to tell your brother anything?"
"Tell him to pray Father doesn't die of shock when he sees me again," Tyrion said jokingly. Though Tyrion actually did wonder about how his father would react when he saw his dwarf son made a true man. "I'll be stopping at Winterfell on my way south. Shall I carry a message to your family?"
"Tell Robb I'm going to become Lord Commander and protect him from the White Walkers so he might as well melt his sword down for horseshoes. And Rickon is small, but try to make him understand he's never going to see me again unless I get leave to visit. And tell him he can have all my things. And once you get to King's Landing, tell Sansa and Arya and Bran that this is where I want to be," Jon said with careful consideration.
Tyrion nodded. "I'll remember that."
Jon turned to look out at the woods on the north side of the Wall. "Uncle Benjen is out there. If he doesn't come back, me and Ghost will go find him."
"I believe you," Tyrion told the bastard. What he didn't say was 'who will find you, then?'